Tag Archives: Family

Here, Without Him

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It is a very odd thing to be here in this house and not have him here too. The television is silent, his chair empty. But his captain’s wafer crackers are still on the counter. His notepads, filled with wobbly numbers and reminders, on the table. It’s as though he has simply stepped out for a minute and will return any second.

I woke up early and came down the stairs to find Grandma in the living room. I hugged her and asked her how she was doing. Fine, she said. The girl who has come to live with her is taking good care of her, although, Grandma says, she’s not as good of a cook as you. This makes me sad.

For nearly two years I didn’t have a job and could have easily come here to take care of her. To make her eggs and toast and tea in the morning. To make sure she’s taking the right medicines. To just … be here. But now I do have a job. So that means I can’t. I can’t be here. I can’t cook for her.

The tears come at the most random of moments. Like the other day when I was opening my mail. I slid my finger under the flap on an envelope and got a paper cut. And I thought how I should get a letter opener. And then I caught a memory of Granddad opening his mail with his knife. Insignificant, really. I know. But that was just how he always did it.

After talking to Grandma for a minute, and making her toast, I went outside to take a turn in the golf cart. It was less than a year ago that I rode around with Granddad, listening to his stories as the morning air grew thick with Southern humidity. And today, it was a lonely ride without him.

I followed his daily route, stopping to pick up the debris and air plants that had fallen from the trees during the night, just like he taught me. I rode down the street to “check in” on the neighbors and their horses and on the way back, I picked up the newspaper. Just like he always did.

And now I sit in his chair, the leather worn soft and broken on the arm rests, his can of cashews to my right, really wishing he was here.

It is a very odd thing, indeed.

Granddad and me, after my college graduation (2004)

Dress Up

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Last week as my dad walked toward me on the dock I couldn’t help but laugh. There he was, Jack Sparrow incarnate, grinning wide, willing me to acknowledge what a great pirate he was.

He had just finished captaining his bi-weekly “Most Excellent Pirate Expedition” cruise. Minutes before, 50 sword-wielding, eye-patch-wearing kids had disembarked the boat and went running up the ramp to find the “treasure” (but not before stopping to ask me, “Arrrrrrrr ye a good pirate or a bad pirate?).

“So what do you think of your old dad dressed up like a pirate?” he asked.

“Well, you do make a great pirate,” I replied.

“This doesn’t even phase you, does it?” he continued, nodding to his costume.

I smiled and shook my head.

“You grew up in quite an interesting home, didn’t you,” he laughed. “This kind of stuff is just normal, huh?”

And it’s true. With an actress/singer/music teacher for a mother and a composer/bass player/captain as a father–let’s just say … things were creative.

I never thought twice when my mother left the house in broad daylight dressed up like a clown, or a rabbit, or a cat. And dad as a pirate? Well, I didn’t even bat an eye. (You should see the two of them as Raggedy Ann and Andy.)

The vast majority of my childhood memories revolve around the shows and concerts mom and dad were in. Life just bobbled back and forth between the harbour and the theater. And I loved hanging out backstage in the dressing rooms–the glow of the light bulb-lined mirrors illuminating the ladies as they applied their lashes and lipstick before slipping into their fantastic costumes. And soon enough, it was us three girls staring in the mirrors.

Well. We may not have light bulb-lined mirrors at our house (Mom: we should totally get some of those. How fun would that be?!), but through the years, our family has amassed quite a fantastic dress up closet. Chuck full of sequins and feathers, there is a costume for every occasion and every age. From spiders to Spanish senoritas, we’ve got the wigs, hats, gowns, and capes from just about every Halloween costume (mom sewed them all), every dance recital, and every show.

And said closet? Is in my room.

This spells hours of fun on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I thought you might like to see a few of my favorites:

Moral of the story?

Start a costume closet for your kids today.

Lori

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(with her first grandchild)

Her birthday last month was hardly celebrated due to the fact that it fell during Kaycie’s graduation week. And Mother’s Day happened while I was on the road last weekend.

It seems, doesn’t it, that Mothers are so often overlooked.

They’re just always there.

Add to that the tug-of-war between apron strings and adulthood, and you sometimes get a tightrope-wire of a relationship that all too often I find myself falling off of.

But I was thinking yesterday.

And I am so very grateful for a mother who loves.

And even though the love has, at times, been hard to hold as I’ve staked my independence through the years, to consider the alternative is unfathomable.

My mom.

She loves until it seems as though there ought to be nothing left.

And then she loves some more.

Leftovers

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Well. After Kaycie’s bridal shower, the string of events that *was* “Maurer Mania” came to a close and everyone hopped on planes bound for their respective corners of the country.

And I? I am left with a quiet house and oodles of pictures from our crazy week together. Here are just a few that make me smile.

Family–is good.

(And yes. I do realize most of them feature baby Laela. But what can I say? I’m a sucker for “the squishy.”)

She Grew Up [Maurer Mania: Part 1a]

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I recently found this letter folded up amongst my papers and files from childhood. I wrote it in 1987. I was in second grade. She was only months old.

Needless to say, she didn’t listen to me.

Last week was what we dubbed “Maurer Mania.” To be honest, any family gathering these days is called such as they always resemble a jam-pack whirlwind of insanity, festivities, milestones, and celebration. I guess that’s what you get when you live so far away from one another–when you do finally end up in the same town together you have to fill it with all the important “stuff.”

And this time, the “stuff,” was all about her, my baby sister Kaycie.

Our first morning together included a visit to the Mount Timpanogos LDS Temple, where she attended for the first time. In our faith, you generally go to the temple for the first time before you either enter into missionary service or marriage. (There are certainly other instances when it’s appropriate to begin attending the temple, but in general, that’s the case. And once you attend for the first time, you are encouraged to return often for worship and instruction.)

It was such a special day for all of us since Kaycie is the last of our immediate family to begin attending the temple. My parents went for the first time in 1980, a year after they had converted to Mormonism. I went in 2000 when I was preparing to serve a mission. My sister Karly then joined us in 2005 when she too went on a mission.

As we gathered together at the end of our session, I looked around at all of us (sans Karly’s husband since he was in the foyer taking care of their new baby)–Mom, dad, me, Kar, Kayc, Kaycie’s fiance Alex, Alex’s family, Kaycie’s friends–sharing the moment, supporting and loving our “baby” as she took that next step in her life’s path. It was a pinnacle moment.

When it was time to leave, I watched Kaycie as she hugged and thanked everyone for being there with her, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the woman she has become. Gosh dangit. She’s so grown up.

Still the baby.

Always the baby.

But so. grown. up.

The Baby Sister

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She just left my house with her fella. Headed back to Provo. With a ring on her finger and a smile on her face.

They got engaged tonight. These two crazy kids I adore. And I love that they came by my house to tell me the news.

He loves my sister so much. And that makes me love him to the moon and back.

And her? Well I don’t possess words enough to explain how I feel about her.

Congratulations my dears. You make me happy.

xo,

Your big sister

You Have Sisters

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I have a hilarious story about how my roommate and I got stuck in the elevator at work last night ☺ … but that’s a post for another time. Today I have to, need to, want to share a story about my sisters.

I have two amazing younger sisters. One, who at times can be the most difficult person you’ve ever met, can also be the most loving, caring, and sensitive. She’s a fighter. A scrapper. And always a friend to the underdog. She’s climbed mountains in this life. Rugged and steep. And she always makes it to the top, no matter how long it takes. I admire her. And I look up to her.

The other is our baby. And that’s what we call her. And for the most part, that’s what we’ve always seen her as. But today, my baby sister had to do a really hard thing. It may have even been the hardest thing she’s ever had to do in her life to date. And while it’s utterly impossible to love her more than I already did, I’ve perhaps never been more proud of her. Today I saw her for the woman she has become. And what an amazing woman that is.

Now for the story … A few months back, the three of us went to the Colbie Caillat concert here in Salt Lake. We were so excited about it and I was particularly thrilled to be going with my girls. We arrived early so we’d get good seats and waited through the openers. After the first act, they announced the second – Trevor Hall. The name sounded familiar to us, but we didn’t think twice about it until he came on and Kaycie (our baby) screamed “Ohmigosh, it’s Trevor Hall!” He and Kaycie had gone to school together back in South Carolina. Actually we’d all gone to school together but he and Kaycie had been in the same grade.

My sisters and I all went to a private school that included grades 2 through 12, so although Kaycie was age 10 and in 4th grade when I graduated, we were in the same school. And we loved that. Even when “we” (i.e Karly and Kaycie, or Karly and I, never Kaycie and I) fought, like siblings do, we were always super close. And going to the same school, I think, gave us each, particularly Kayc, a measure of security. If something went wrong, we knew we could find our sisters. And we were really quite an anomaly. Most of the other siblings we went to school with were definitely not as close or as nice to each other. I even remember Kaycie saying one day how her friends thought it was “so cool” that her older sisters were so nice to her and included her and hugged her in the halls. But we never thought much about it. That’s just how it was for us.

So anyways, back to the concert. Trevor finished his set (’twas fabulous). Colbie came on (’twas seriously fabulous). And after the show we waited around to say hi. When the lines finally died down and Kaycie could get up to the table, she said, “You probably don’t remember me, but we went to school together …” and as she was finishing her sentence his eyes lit up and despite the fact that he was higher than a kite, he said, “Ohmigosh!” He recognized her and then added, “You have sisters!”

We all laughed and she said, “yeah they’re here!” And Karly and I waved. It was a seemingly funny thing for him to blurt out at that moment – “you have sisters!” But over the last little while I’ve thought a lot about his reaction. I’ve thought of all the things he could have said at that moment. Of all the memories from grade school he and Kaycie shared. But of all those things, the one thing he remembered about Kaycie was that she had sisters. And I love that. To me it says we three Maurer girls are “tight.” It says that the people around us know what, and more importantly, who, is most important to us. I love my girls and I love knowing that each of us has two cheerleaders in our corner no matter what. And I’m glad THAT is what people remember about us.

Kayc … I know you know that we love you most. But today especially, I hope you’ll remember that “You have sisters.” I can only imagine how your heart must hurt. I can only imagine the number of tears you’ve cried. But you are one amazing little woman. One amazing little baby. ☺ Kar and I are here. Your cheerleaders. Your safe place. You have sisters and I couldn’t be more grateful to be yours, especially today.

Tell me: Do you have siblings? What do you love about them?

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